


Petals and Ashes

by bubb



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: F/M, Human AU, Slow Burn, ehhh I'll add tags as I go along cuz so far thats all I got, fairy tale AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-19 09:18:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubb/pseuds/bubb
Summary: In an unknown little somewhere between storybook pages, the lives of a princess and a servant boy become entangled. The strings that bind them? Mutual curiosity.





	1. Little Songbirds, Caged but Unrattled

She was born as a fire roared, setting newborn cheeks ablaze. The name “Rosie” popped from her mother’s lips as naturally as the heaving breaths in-between.

Rosie was old now and her life was all about scraping out virtues from the dreariest barrels. But she still wished for that kind of fire again. Not even for herself anymore but to keep the little boy warm.

Their family was gone and one day Rosie intended to learn why. But for the time being, she hoped and she prayed that this castle, cold and harsh, wouldn’t kill the light in that child’s heart and the questions on his tongue.

The world had yet to be discovered by Branch and she wouldn’t let their circumstances crush him before he got the chance to live.

Narrow flames flickered like delicate dancers, observed in silence. Rosie was never allowed enough coal to bring a burning performance to life. A weak fire but one that fulfilled its purpose. They wouldn’t freeze tonight so she couldn’t complain.

She sank lower into bed, careful not to jostle Branch who lay in a doze against her chest. He tended to fall asleep with time and her heartbeat. She always felt it a pity he would never be lulled by warmth alone.

Rosie wondered what would become of Branch. He would have to begin working alongside her as a servant in a few years. However with all this “Destiny” nonsense the fairies were blathering about, Branch’s future was a little more open doored than most children.

Now, if those damn creatures weren’t so secretive about everything then maybe she could stop worrying about him.

Her fingers ran absentmindedly through his hair, a gesture that went unbeknownst to her, lost inside her own head until the boy glanced up.

Rosie internally cursed herself to see a little face devoid of drowsiness. It would take ages to get him relaxed again.

“Those eyes are too wide for this hour,” She softly reprimanded, stroking up his forehead.

The thin bedpost whined as Branch pulled himself up. “I’m thirsty.”

“Funny how often you say that after bedtime, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, feigning a cluelessness that could only get a laugh out of his grandmother as she slipped out from beneath the covers. A stone floor froze bare feet as she hopped across the room.

“Your cup is still half full. Alright if I just heat it up for you?”

“Well, yeah.” said Branch. He gestured around the tiny servants quarters, lacking in both character and overall pleasantness. “You see anything else here for me to drink?”

Reaching for the kettle over the fire, Rosie’s shoulders dropped in exasperation. “Branch. Dear.”

“Yes?”

“What age are you now?”

His head cocked innocently. “Six?”

“That’s right.” She smiled tightly, pouring a hint of hot water into a plain, chipped teacup. “And do you remember what we said about the way you speak?”

“I am a very intelligent young man.” Branch recited, failing to keep the pride from his tone and the flicker from his lips.

She nodded, gesturing for him to go on.

“However, sarcasm is not a trait grandma wishes me to excel in. I will refrain from sassiness until I’m older lest I fulfill the destiny my father left behind of driving grandma to an early grave.” He finished with a self satisfied nod.

“Ooh, well done!” Rosie gave him a light applause after setting the piping teacup on the bedside stool. “Your memory is impeccable.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Good.”

She was just lifting the covers when she felt a sharp pain. Rosie froze, sucking a breath through her teeth as she clasped her side, settling in tentatively to avoid a further ache. She was left momentarily unaware of Branch’s expectant look.

Until finally, she noticed. “What is it?”

“Really good?” He prodded hopefully. “My memory is really good?”

Rosie exhaled, wondering just what muscle she must have pulled but determined to let it go unnoticed. The last thing she needed was the child getting fired up with a dozen medical questions. Especially when he should be sleeping.

Branch was his father’s son and that came with several difficulties.

“Really, _really_ good.” She assured him, pulling him close and peppering kisses to his temple.

“Now, a cup of gaudium tea for an impeccable little man. Drink up.”

Rosie passed him the cup, which he graciously cradled before taking a sip.

With one intake, Branch’s true colours burst to life, in what was the most significant aspect of a gaudium blossom’s power.

Shocking indigo streaked down navy strands, his entire tuft of hair illuminating. Irises flashed like the sudden gleam of a sapphire catching light and he smiled. It was the usual smile that accompanied gaudium spreading through the body but was honey sweet all the same.

Some said the petals increased happiness along with its flashy colouration but Rosie believed otherwise. It was a warm, steady comfort that nursed all anxieties. That had nothing to do with magic. Gaudium tea was just so familiar that every sip held a calming glow of contentment. Almost like a hug.

After a quiet while, he presented the drained cup over his head. “Empty.” He mumbled.

“Hmm,” Rosie placed it on the stool. “Does that mean you plan on sleeping now?”

“Can we read something first?”

“What if I just sing to you?”

Branch shook his head, starting to go bleary eyed but stubborn regardless. “Don’t wanna fall asleep. I wanna read.”

“Whether we read or we sing, you always fall asleep, dear.”

“I won’t this time.”

Rosie rolled her eyes with an affectionate chuckle as she leaned over the bed’s edge. Books were piled underneath but as she pawed around, she successfully felt the awful, leathery binding of a book she knew so well.

Dropping the thick heap into her lap, she brushed off the light dust coating as Branch squinted in bemusement.

“What book is this?”

“An old one anyway.” Rosie wrinkled her nose as memories re-emerged. “It’s something of an encyclopedia. Tells us all we know about the fairies, about our kingdoms, about...well...everything. Your Dad used to read it all the time.”

Little hands could not grasp at book corners fast enough.

Branch was a very curious child, with a need to learn just about everything. But this book in particular, had become his entire universe in a hot second. His Dad had read it and his parents were undoubtedly his favourite topic of discussion.

It was a shame Rosie could never answer his biggest question.

“What’s that?”

Branch had eagerly thrown the book open and a small cloth fell through the pages.

“What he used as a bookmark, I’m guessing,” She smoothed out what looked to be a spotless white handkerchief, its centre embroidered with a marked bullseye.

 Her eyes widened at the familiar sight before her features melted in an exasperated smile.

“The bullseye has been our family crest for generations, symbolizing our integrity.” She said quietly.

Branch’s head snapped up to meet her gaze, twinkling eyes a striking mirror image to the inquisitive boy who came before him. “Really?”

And just like with that boy, Rosie often let loose spurts of endeared giggles.

“No, not really,” She shook her head, frizzy drapes of mint tinted hair lightly batting his shoulders as she drew him into a hug.

“I’m afraid we don’t know our family crest. However, your Dad was a bit of a pride nut. He fancied the idea of having a crest so he designed one himself.”

“Carved bullseyes into every door of the house,” Rosie tutted as she reminisced. “Had to draw the line and ground him once he marked my good kitchen table.”

The small frame, wrapped in her arms, slumped.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

Branch glumly fiddled with the cloth between his fingers. “So, it’s not our family crest.”

“Aw, Branch,” She crooned, tucking her fingers under his chin and propping up his face to find hers.

Rosie leaned in and whispered like she was confiding a sacred secret. “It can be.”

He blinked up at her, the expanse of sky in his eyes a vast canvas of nothingness.

“Well, we don’t have a family crest, do we? Need one, if you ask me.” She said, pinching up the handkerchief and giving it a thorough examination. “But in order for it to catch on, we’d need the new generation to bear it with pride.”

Branch seemed to realize what she was saying, as she was now counting the gaps in his teeth, broad grin stretching his tiny face. He nodded in a blur, both softening Rosie’s heart and giving her a looming fear that she would never get him to sleep tonight.

She handed Branch their now official family crest, making a show of neatly folding it beforehand. “May it forever aim true. Treasure this always.”

He took his new possession gently but as his fingers brushed fabric, he clasped and held tight. Branch had ownership over very little and when it came to what he had, he tended to hoard.

Rosie would not be getting that handkerchief back, that was for damn sure. Actually, she couldn’t see _anyone_ snatching it from the boy without losing a finger. It was his now and that was that.

“What’s a ‘Prise’?”

A pause.

Hearing the name bounce off her earbuds for the first time in years sent her into momentary shock. She was plunged deep down to a time she wished to relive, do-over and forget all at once.

For a flick of a second, Rosie wondered if Branch had become so attuned to her heartbeat, that he would notice the way it stuttered.

But he remained oblivious, patiently waiting for the definition that she always seemed to have for him. Rosie opened her mouth with a dazed shake of the head, too dumbfounded to answer.

“How do you-....?” She began breathlessly until her gaze fell to the cloth in his hands and she spotted it. Bottom right hand corner folded over, stitched in pink thread.

_-P R I S E_

Guilt flooded her system like a collapsing dam but sliding her bottom lip inwards and biting down, she held it together.

“Why don’t we-....” Rosie trailed off to catch her breath, suddenly exhausted and not only wishing Branch would sleep, but longing to be unconscious herself. It was too late to fall down this hole. “Why don’t we just start reading now?”

“But what’s a ‘Prise’?” He repeated, looking appalled at the notion of something going unlearned. “You didn’t tell me what a ‘Prise’ is,”

“I don’t know.” She answered evenly, laying down in defeat and pulling the book to her chest.

Disappointment welled in her stomach. Rosie had spent five years encouraging Branch’s curiosity and had made sure she had a proper response to every question he asked. She avoided “I don’t know”s like sour milk.

But there was a first time for everything.

A shadow of astonishment crossed Branch’s face at the notion of grandma Rosie _not_ knowing but he soon relented. He crawled into her side to soak up warmth and once he was tucked in and silent, she began reading aloud.

And of course, Branch mouthed along as her helpful finger glided across the passages.

_“We are not experts of our own world. In fact, I would go as far as to say we know nothing._

_This land is its own mystery, secrets concealed under every rock and hollowed tree. Though they will never be found. Not by the naked eye._

_A stranger once christened this world The Illusion Winds, during a time that went undocumented. One can only assume it was done under the age old belief that none of us are truly real._

_Our existence as human beings is common speculation, due to tricks of the mind going on for centuries. We sometimes wonder if we’re enchanted dolls, conjured up by fairy spells to breathe and live and dance and sing. To create, to destroy and to walk the pathways they paved for us so long ago. Nothing but playthings in a greater entities’ frivolous games._

_But maybe it’s that uncertainty that makes us long to be alive. With every sneaking suspicion that we’re a mirage, the need to feel can only grow._

_And we do just that. We feel, we think, we live. Because while we’re lost and confused in a world we cannot understand, we’re happy._

_Fairies are an undeniable presence. They are elusive inhabitants and though they choose to dwell through a curtain realm, the land is still their own. They are a thousand fragments of a single soul and without their magic, The Illusion Winds wouldn’t thrive._

_From stories of encounters and a spirit of optimism, fairies are believed to be benevolent (even playful) creatures. They are known to occasionally befriend us and through word of mouth, we believe they are where the gaudium blossoms originated._

_Flowers that bloom throughout the year, specked with a dust that we can only describe as magic. A gift from fairykind as a reminder that they’re quite fond of us. Whether as toys or companions, we’ll never know._

_But it is common knowledge that without the fairies, the world around us would surely wilt and die. They are a powerful life force and we’re grateful to them regardless of their intentions._

_Everyday, we crush petals and brew gaudium tea to show appreciation. Doing so has become tradition and the pride of our flowers will forever be clear in the enchanted shine of our hair-”_

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Looklooklooklook!”

King Peppy peered over the rim of his book, as his tiny daughter kicked free of her silken sheets and scrabbled across the bed.

She took hold of the floral teacup, which sat cooling by her bedside table and gulped it, unflinching.

Magenta so vivid it could scorch skin, fell in streams from the roots to the frame of her face and down velvet adorned shoulders.

Poppy lowered her cup, brilliant eyes catching fire. “Just like that, right?”

It was her crooked goofy grin that had Peppy chuckling as he nodded. “Just like that.”

“Hmm,” One of those rare moments occured where she fell silent, watching entranced at the swirls of steam arising from her cup. “So...gaudium tea is a present? From the fairies?”

Peppy debated on giving the precise explanation before simply shrugging. His daughter prefered to keep things uncomplicated anyway. “Something like that, yes.”

She turned back to him, hands folding in her lap and fingers fiddling thoughtfully. “Are you sure we shouldn’t give them a Thank You card? Their tea’s real good and we drink it all the time. It’d be nice if-”

“Poppy,” His voice rumbled low, an underlying warning but not nearly stern enough to dampen the atmosphere.

Though the king was heavy set, stacked sturdy as his castle walls and spoke loud like fanfare with exploding energy, let it never be said that was all he was. He had his priorities.

When his princess was concerned, King Peppy remained pillow soft and gentle as an evening breeze. Her hopeful smiles were one of a kind and he never had the heart to wipe them clean.

“Fairies don’t-....” He began carefully. “Well, they-...they don’t want to be thanked.”

To his surprise (though in hindsight, this kind of thing shouldn’t be surprising.) Poppy knotted her arms, huffing petulantly.

“Well, _I want_ to thank them. And as soon as I meet a fairy, I’m gonna do that, whether they like it or not. If they never been thanked before, how do they know they don’t want it?”

He didn’t answer immediately but simply stared at her, blinking slow and tired as he scanned her round face. It was set so firm, fresh young features locked in a determination that sent a looming dread creeping up Peppy’s neck.

When young and wild, Poppy’s mother had clenched her teeth and fought like Hell to get what she wanted. And unless the world caved in on her, she always succeeded.

It was that kind of passion that carried through generations. He was growing old fast and Poppy could only become sharper in wit, stronger in will and most importantly, reckless in nature. An unnerving possibility when it came to her overall safety and the fate of her life.

“Princess. If you care about your poor ol’ Dad’s blood pressure, promise me you won’t go hunting for fairies.”

Her brow bent, mouth forming a tiny ‘o’ in an almost offended expression. “Why?”

“It’s...well, it’s dangerous.” He stated, calm as he could manage and straight forward enough for a child to understand. “We know fairies are powerful but we don’t know if they really want us poking around in their-”

“But the book says they’re bev-....bevenlo-....” Her dazed eyes raised to the ceiling, brain gears turning to recall her recent vocabulary word.

“Benevolent.” Said Peppy. He then sharply shut the book over his knees, finality clear in the snap of pages. “And the book doesn’t know everything about fairies.”

Poppy’s lips tightened and she stared up at him with a look he could only describe as challenging. For a five-year-old anyway.

“Do _you_ know everything about fairies then?”

Hopelessness then a sudden terror flashed in the back of his mind. An unwelcome memory at this time of night. He released an exhale to steady himself.

“No.” He muttered. “I barely know anything about fairies. But I know enough to say we don’t go looking for them. They’re too unpredictable.”

Poppy stared at him skeptically. “Does that mean they’re good or bad?”

“I don’t know, Poppy.”

The king stood, pointedly ignoring the way his knees crackled as he did so. He was still in his prime and couldn’t afford bad knees now.

“I really shouldn’t have let you stay up this late,”

“Can’t we read the rest of the book?” Poppy wheedled, wriggling impatiently. “I’m still not tired.”

Peppy tucked the book under his arm.

“How about this,” He tipped his head down to take her in, silently amused at such a tiny human being who barely took up a tenth of her bed’s width. “You agree to try and sleep now-”

“But-”

“-With no more arguments,”

Poppy pouted. She did not care for being interrupted. However, when it came to the princess who was both a motormouth and a bargainer, it had to be done every so often or his prepositions would never be heard.

“And I promise that we’ll cut an hour off your lessons tommorrow and go riding down at the stable.”

Her beam was precious but incorrigible and she simpered “I love you, Daddy,” so sickeningly sweet that he had to roll his eyes.

Honestly, this child. So easily bribed. Hopefully she would grew out of that before she became queen.

“I love you, Poppy.”

Peppy reached for the most cherished object on her table. A ovular framed portrait, no bigger than the palm of his hand. As done every night, he swiftly pecked the image of the woman through the glass before lowering it to dangle before Poppy’s face.

She leaned forward and did a similar gesture, with that same dramatic “Mwah!” sound that she never tired of. “G’night, Mommy. I love you.”

“She loves you too.” He murmured automatically. He placed the portrait down with deliberate care, as if worried it would shatter easily. It was a strange habit for him to adopt, considering that during her time, his wife had been considered everything but delicate.

Peppy crossed the bedroom, effortlessly stepping over discarded dolls and building blocks, one hand around a candlestick and the other settled in his nightcoat pocket. He stopped by the doorway and whispered a final goodnight.

The princess hummed in acknowledgment, eyes slid shut and snuggled in tight. Even from a distance, she glowed bright in the strong blaze of a nearby fire, half her face sunk in a chasm of squashy pink pillows.

He stepped out, closing the door behind him. So accustomed to the heat of Poppy’s room, the draft incased him all at once, as he strolled down hallways far too long to be practical.

The length of the powder blue carpet path was cut away with every footstep and to keep him company on his walk, were his two girls.

Life-size paintings were hung in rows, images of Poppy and the woman before her jumping from pose to pose across the walls, as if admist a sporadic dance.

He may have gone a little overboard with commisions once his daughter was born. Having her immortalized had been an extremely expensive coping mechanism. And while he would never speak it aloud, the chance of Poppy disappearing too and him being left with nothing to remember her face was a rampant fear back then.

Alright, maybe it still was.

Peppy finally came to his own chambers and his final nightly routine began.

He commenced it without a conscious decision, lost in thought as he came to the centre of the room. An ancient rug with a forestry pattern lay before the fire and in one mechanical motion, Peppy wedged his foot under a side and kicked upward. The rug folded over with a plop, granting access to what was hidden.

He slid back the passageway door, sighing at the winding staircase beneath. Those sure were a lot of steps. And afterwards, he would be climbing right back up again. On the brightside, it couldn’t be said he didn’t get exercise.

Now, this was the part where he had to focus. They had never gotten around to building in a stair rail and while a seasoned professional in falling down stairs, King Peppy was getting older and wouldn’t recover from those tumbles forever.

Eyes fixed vigilantly on his feet, he started to descend. And descend. And descend.

Yes, there _were_ a lot of steps.

Another reason why he ignored every sign of the strength of his knees slowly deteriorating. Peppy swore to himself he would go down these stairs every night of his life if it killed him.

For Prise.


	2. All Knowing and Barely Thinking

As a society, the Kingdom of Bergenhend valued rock-hard stubbornness and good, old fashioned elbow grease. Or any kind of grease, come to think of it.

Bergens haggled heatedly and pinched their pennies with an iron will. This, coupled with a complete inability to share, was what made weekly Market Day like soldiering out for war. Not that this kind of thing phased them in the slightest. This was their life.

Maybe you would lose an appendage in a savage brawl over the last haddock on sale and maybe you wouldn’t. The market was full of surprises that way.

If you were savvy, you’d breathe through your nose when walking these streets. The town square was packed tight like enclosed cattle and perspiration fumed amongst mixes of meats and manure.

Merchants shouted out their wares with a power that spurted from their stomach and with every step taken, a yell could be heard of “That’s my final offer!” of one customer with rising blood pressure, after the next.

Make a drinking game out of this and you’d be dead in an hour. Believe it, stronger than you have tried.

Through crowds that swarmed and butted shoulders in their own unspoken language, a single individual hobbled along.

He was ancient, deteriorated spine hunching him over, with face of withers and creases bearing a gummy grin. The little old man was positively perky, a mood one usually didn’t associate with Market Day in Bergenhend. Especially considering the old and frail were often those most roughed around in the hustle and bustle of it all.

Blissfully oblivious to the aggression in Bergen shaped chunks that trooped high above him, he slithered through the gaps between elbows and occasionally slipped out from cloak tails that he had gotten himself lost in.

His clothes were worn through Hell and back, tattered and moth-eaten, seams just barely holding faded fabric together. The only signs pointing to him being something more extraordinary than he appeared, was his thick, flashy wristlet, engraved with swirls of stylized flowers. That, and the pouch he tried not to flaunt.

Tied around his waist with a belt of frayed rope and concealed under his cloak, was the tiny pouch where he stashed his haul from today’s market. A pouch woven of shimmering silver silk, otherworldly to the sight and heaven to the touch.

All that shone was what caught his eye. Stalls aligned with jewels and crystals that glittered under sun rays, were the stalls he strolled by. He didn’t care for arguing over prices or forcing his way through the crowd but he still made his purchases regardless.

Every so often, baubles on display would appear to pop from existence, leaving the vendor to blink in astonishment as a sudden weight of coins drop to the depths of their pockets.

The silver pouch was beginning to strain with his newly bought treasures and while he was a little peeved at the time, in hindsight, his impulse shopping rightfully should have been stopped.

A child met him face-to-face. Well, actually she forced herself into the space before him, head held high and hands tucked behind her back.

His steps stuttered to a halt and he blinked, awaiting a possible explanation as to why she, quite literally, hopped into his life. None was given, however, as she held his gaze with an unspoken expectation.

“Hello,” He said automatically, summoning a friendly smile. If his memory was correct, children liked to be greeted.

“How are you on this fine day, my good little lady?”

The girl didn’t respond, prompting his head to tilt as he took her in.

Not a villager of Bergenhend, that he knew for certain. Like himself, she was of clear Trolopian descent. Strange considering how enthused they usually were to make friends. Or maybe that was her (abeit inexperienced) intent here.

She had a tiny physique and a face like the moon. Her clothes were as run down as his own and braided hair impressively long. A thick plait surpassed the length of the child herself and trailed down the path behind him. He didn’t bother to check where it ended. Probably should have.

He heard a gentle chuckle and glanced back to her.

A devilish smile slashed her expression, a look both familiar as home and frightening as the unknown.

He didn’t get the chance to exclaim her name in shock before he felt a tug on his belt and without a second thought, threw back his cloak to catch the culprit.

And there she was, a perfect doppleganger to the first child. This one had somehow expertly weaseled her way into his side and now stood frozen in a particularly guilty position, her small decorate dagger just seconds away from cutting the silver pouch loose.

“Leg it!” The first one snapped.

All in a blur, the pouch was sliced from his person and the two broke into a run, the braid interjoining them flying in their wake. Giggles ghosted in the spot they left behind and spare a moment to gather his common sense, the man shot after them.

He abandoned the hobble and hunch, much to the shock of any Bergen that bothered to pay attention.

They would later return home to their families and recount the crazy little old man who sprinted through town square with the speed of a hare and the smirk of a young boy.

The girls were dashing down streets and past market stalls, luring him out of town. Through an opening of arched willow trees and into the forest pathway, his anticipation for the chase could only bubble.

No prying eyes in the forest. Nothing restricted them. They were free.

Once he was out and a stretch of woodsy road unravelled before him, all confines were off. Wide wings burst from his back, appearance showy but undeniably breathtaking.

Their structure was like glass crystal, with veins resembling bare branches of winter trees. Every glint his wings reflected was snatched like a dreamcatcher, shining and immortalized, sheet of magic their forever dancefloor.

Framing the wings’ edges, was dust of iridescent silver that dripped and dropped with every little flutter but vanished into nothingness upon touching the ground. And when he took to flight like a shot arrow, glittery trails hung in midair until he was long gone and they faded, undisturbed.

Everyone knew a traditional chase should never be on foot. Wings were essential to thrill, a thought he entertained as he soared through a whir of forestry and shed a skin that didn’t suit him at all.

Decades streaked from his face like droplets of water and his brittle body strengthened in rejuvenation. With every tree he left in a bluster of leaves, the years rolled off his back until what was left, was either a late teenage boy or a very young man.

In his own opinion, it was the ideal form. Handsome and free but in a youthful way, spritish and bold and left unbound by a grown man’s obligations.

His hair was a puffish texture, alabaster in colour and sprinkled with crust of the stars themselves. Clothes mended under a mind of their own, tattered garments dissolving with the spread of lustrous fabrics down his anatomy and bejeweled accessories (Simply cannot be seen without them.) materializing where he felt they were most essential.

All that remained of the shriveled old man was the same etch marked wristlet, clasped across his lower arm. While he would always be considered one of the more outrageous fairies, who dabbled and mixed attires in a constant experiment of fashion itself, Guy Diamond would rather have the limb itself ripped off than willingly remove his wristlet.

Out of the corner of his eye, the world was a haze of dark greens and browns, scenery smudged like paint in his rush. Throughout his flight, he kept his gaze focused and scanning for any signs of movement. He could sense the girls as he gained closer and closer.

Any minute now, any minute now...

The minute came. But not as smoothly as he would have hoped.

A sudden flash of aqua and lilac and still mid-processing, he didn’t halt and he didn’t slow. Guy unknowingly launched into a makeshift slingshot and catapulted back with the same speed as he went in. A startled cry jumped from his throat, wind knocked out of him as he crashed, skull first into the nearest oak.

Any human would be concussed. Or at the very least, stricken unconscious. But Guy Diamond merely pouted, mildly disgruntled at having fallen for such a childish trick.

Delicate laughter jingled from the nearby trees.

“Okay, first of all!” He began, massaging a stomach spot where an ornamental hair decoration had jabbed his flesh. “That prank was uncreative and typical,”

“Then explain to us why you walked right into it.”

Another laugh.

“He _flew_ into it, Chen. Big difference. Dove straight in, blind as a bat.”

The technicoloured braid, wound in twines of pearls and jewelry, drooped from its springy stretch as two women on either end emerged from behind the trees. Hair was drawn in as they returned to eachothers’ side as birth had intended, a length once far past their ankles, now swinging sensibly at their hips.

“Been a while, ladies.” He greeted dryly, clear affection in his tone if you listened attentively enough.

Fairies were known predominantly as incredibly powerful beings who possessed a beauty almost transcendental. Artists, songwriters and storytellers tended to focus on the latter aspect in their depictions, the longing to enchant an audience something fierce.

Guy Diamond had been around longer than any human, he had outlived some family lines, in fact. He had set eyes on every fairy in the realm and could tell you with all certainty, that Satin and Chenille were the loveliest of them all.

(Not counting himself, of course.)

It was a very put-together kind of beautiful and they were admired in vein to marble statues. From makeup of pastel colours, shadowing their eyes and painting their lips, to elaborately done braids, woven with spangles and gemstones. It was sheer perfection they strived for and one could only gaze in awe at their success.

They dressed light, loose and little, with shining materials designed specifically to compliment radiant skin.

Satin was adorned in shades of powder pink and amethyst, wearing sleek, gloss-like finery that fell in transparent curtains down her legs.

Meanwhile, Chenille preferred soft azures and floaty dresses, floofing around the thighs like a newborn bloom.

Every time they met, Guy felt himself beam with pride at the constant reminder that his dear, close friends were still as gorgeous as he left them.

He was offered a jewel embellished hand and smiled up gratefully at Chenille as she yanked him up.

“Someone looks pleased to see us,” She teased, nodding to his wings. They flitted wildly, a telltale sign of excitement.

Guy scoffed. “Oh, and you’re not?”

Chewing down a grin, Chenille peered back sheepishly to her own beating wings.

“And you! You think I don’t notice this right here, Missy?!” He pointed to Satin in mock accusation.

She had been hovering inches from the forest floor but promptly dropped with a smirk upon being addressed. “I’m excited for the big day, dope. You have nothing to do with it.”

Besides hair, another aspect that bonded the twins, were their respective wings. Identical in shape, feel and technically in image as they both portrayed the summer sky. Yet they were not quite the same.

For Chenille, they were like mirrors to the sky that hung above, right down to the light smatterings of clouds and golden rays that seared through periwinkle blue.

But for Satin, it was the sky they would see tonight. Deep, unfathomable navy, specked with starry constellations and illuminated by the glow of a nearby moon.

The twins, the skies, the same logic applied. If you witnessed one, the other was not far behind.

“Did you happen to _forget_ what today is, Guy?” Chenille inquired, hands already on the hips in a pose she was becoming quite well known for.

Damn. Was it his imagination or were these two starting to resemble Harley?

“No, ma’am! I’ve been hyped for the last decade. Won't catch _me_ forgetting,"

Satin cocked her head knowingly, arching one expertly trimmed eyebrow. “Then why did we catch you fooling around in the market, as if there’s nothing to be excited about? Today is like....”

She trailed away with an impatient twirl of her wrist, the correct word just on the tip of her tongue. “Like-like historic! People will tell stories about it! Practically the birth of a new era!”

Chenille blew a long, drawn out raspberry. “Oh, of course you’d say that. It’s _your_ prophecy!”

“And it’s important to me!” Satin defended, face of indignation seeped with a blush .“You know I rarely predict anything! So, you two better take this _one_ prophecy seriously or so help me-!”

“I am taking it seriously!” Guy Diamond wisely cut her off before she could get too riled up. “Super seriously, honest,”

“Says the fairy who spent the last two hours collecting shiny things,” She countered.

“Hey, hey, I’m excited but like....in a nervous way. I was getting all giddy and shaky and needed to get my mind off things for a bit.”

“Huh,” Chenille mused. “That’s weird. I mean, it’s normal for Satin to be stressed over the childrens’ first encounter. But you...?”

Guy gave a bouncy shrug, glitter dusting off his shoulders like dandruff. “Like she said, it’s gonna be the moment we all tell stories about. There’s gonna be a ton of songs about it. Famous portraits will be devoted to it. The moment they first meet and fall in love.”

“They’re not going to fall in love, Guy.”

“Umm,” Satin purposefully cleared her throat. “They better fall in love. That’s kinda what I predicted, Chen. If they don’t, I’m screwed. We’re all screwed, actually.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not saying they _won’t_. They definitely will. But we know it won’t be at first sight. It’s going to take time. A lot of time.”

Chenille glanced between Satin and Guy, features unlined in patience but unable to mask that subtle twitch of exasperation. “Plus, they’re only eleven, idiots.”

“Uh, actually,” Guy Diamond popped up his index finger at once. “Branch is twelve.”

Satin looked to him, bewildered. “Since when do you keep track of humans’ ages?”

“Since that kid learned to talk. He’s twelve, Satin. Don’t forget it. Heaven knows I sure won’t. It’s been drilled into my head. Get his age wrong and he goes ballistic.”

While she was still noticeably tense, he managed to get a small giggle out of Satin.

A memory of separation, a decade in length, seemed to evaporate with their reunion. Guy and the twins now chatted with ease, brimming with jibes of prickly endearment, like it had only been mere days.

Days, months, years. They had a tendency to get their timespans mixed up.

They decided their journey to King Gristle’s castle would not be a flight but a casual stroll. They did troop along a long-since forgotten carriage road after all. Plus, oftentimes the gusts of wind above interfered with coherent interaction and currently, they longed to catch up.

Their wings fell away like a swiped mirage, leaving them with the appearance of three, particularly ostentatious performers.

“So,” Guy began a new topic of conversation, his arms slung over both womens’ shoulders as they tackled rising ground.  “Do tell me about _your_ godchild. How’s the little princess turning out so far?”

The twins shared a look of fond smiles.

“Oh, Poppy’s a sweetheart,” Chenille fawned. “Smiles a lot, remembers her ‘Please’s and ‘Thank you’s.

“Clever, creative, a romantic heart, far too much love for such a little girl.” Satin listed them off, stroking every trait on her fingertips as if channeling affection for the child herself. “No doubt in my mind, she is going to be one of the kindest, most understanding Queens Trolopia’s ever seen.”

“Quite a fierce little thing too, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh?” Guy prodded, intrigued.

Maybe this would be her and Branch’s common ground.

“Yes but not in an unpleasant way,” Chenille was quick to explain herself in that regard.

Damn.

While Guy always saw his own young charge as admirably spirited, he was well aware that many thought of the boy as simply bad tempered.

Chenille nodded. “I think ‘Determined’ is the word she’s looking for here. Absolutely nothing will keep that child down. Hasn’t cried over scraped knees in years. She just gets back up again!”

“Um, Chenille,” Satin interjected, a pointed glance between Guy and her sister. “Since we’re on the topic of Poppy’s determination, don’t you think we should tell him about-?”

Chenille shushed her, emphasizing with a sharp shake of the head. “No. We’re on a roll here, bragging about our kid’s perfection. He’ll laugh.”

“Yeeeaah, he’ll probably laugh.” Agreed Guy Diamond. A smirk crossed his face. “But c’mon, tell me anyway,”

For a tick, tick, tick of several seconds, the twins hotly debated in nothing but expressions and mannerisms.

Hundreds of years and Guy could still not decipher this language for the life of him.

Finally, Chenille flicked her wrist dismissively, shoulders loosening in defeat.

“Okay, so get this,” Satin whirled on him eagerly. “Ever since she was like five, this girl has decided that she’s going to find us.”

Guy blinked, confused. “Liiiike....find _us_ -us?” he tapped his fingers against his chest. “Or find fairies in general?”

“Fairies in general. Says she’s going to befriend us, thank us for all we’ve done and once she’s queen, have us registered as our own separate kingdom,”

Guy Diamond laughed, as Chenille said he would. “Alright, that’s just precious. I like this kid already.”

“She’s got all these ideas for diplomatic meetings.”

“Diplomatic meetings.” He grinned, shaking his head in awe. “With fairies.”

“She’s a child.” Reasoned Chenille. “She’s curious about everything magical related. I think all of this is stemming from her frustration of not knowing. She’ll grow out of it.”

Satin hummed, unconvinced. “Well, yes, she _could_ grow out of it. But let’s not forget she’s been on this most of her life. If anything, it’s most likely to become more of an obsession as she gets older.”

“Well, girls,” Guy clapped his hands together conclusively. “It’s clear your kid is absolutely bonkers and you know what? From what I’ve heard, she sounds like a delight.”

“Guy!” Chenille snapped suddenly.

He jumped, smile slapped right off his face. He took an instinctive step back as she shot him with interrogating eyes.

“Tell us about your child. And for the love of all that is good, please tell me he’s levelheaded.”

“Welllllllll….” Guy Diamond hesitated, fingers a fiddling. “I can tell you for certain that Branch is an extremely intelligent boy. He can read and everything. Unbelievable for a child in his position. Okay, y’know what? I shouldn’t just stand here yapping. You’re gonna see Branch yourselves anyway, let’s go!”

He then broke into a tentative jog, creating a shaft of distance between himself and the twins.

Satin was just about to follow him when Chenille grabbed her by the arm, squinting suspiciously across the forest way. “There’s something he’s not telling us,”

Guy froze where he stood.

“Chenille!” He cried, whipping around to face them. He clasped his head in alarm, as if attempting to shield his brain lobes.

“Harley told you not to do that! It’s an invasion of privacy! Satin, tell her!”

“He’s right. She did give you a lecture about that.” Satin nodded, folding her arms and leaning against her sister’s shoulder. “So, c’mon and spill. What do you see?”

_“Satin!”_

Chenille stared Guy down, unable to even alter her expression for fear of losing concentration. “The boy I see in Guy’s head is a pitiful looking thing, if I’m being perfectly honest. He’s filthy.”

“Well, duh, Chen, he’s a servant boy, isn’t he?”

“Surely, they at least have cold showers round back. But this one looks like he’s never seen soap in his life. Dirt and ash that’s been building up for years. Makes his skin look almost grey.”

A pause.

Spotting the way Chenille paled ever so slightly, Guy braced himself.

“His hair is...black?”

A horrifying swirl of confusion and outrage flickered like shadows across Satin’s face.

“I’m sorry...his hair is what?!” Her voice squeaked in disbelief.

“Black,” Chenille repeated, in a shocked daze. “Black as the coal dust under his fingernails.”

“Why?!” Satin demanded, obviously directed at Guy.

But nonetheless, he turned to Chenille expectantly as if the question were intended for her.

“Guy Diamond, stop looking clueless and answer me right this instant! Last time we saw Branch, his hair was blue. Now, it’s black. Explain yourself.”

After a single moment of sliding weight from foot to foot and opening and shutting his mouth as he formed sentences together, Guy gave up. He shrugged, cautious of his every move. “He doesn’t drink Gaudium tea.”

Stars shimmered in a sudden encore as Satin launched into his space, ignoring the distressed shriek of Chenille as she too, was hauled across the wedge of land.

Wings thumped furiously before disappearing as her feet touched the ground and a hand shot for a death grip on Guy’s shoulder.

“ _Why_ doesn’t he drink Gaudium tea?”

“Satin.” He swallowed. “Everything’s fine. There’s nothing you need to worry-”

“Guy, are you honestly telling me that one of the children who is destined to bring the next Pact of Heart, doesn’t even believe in fairies? This is the kid I had to go and choose?”

“He does believe in fairies!”

“Then why doesn’t he drink the goddamn Gaudium tea?!” Satin screeched. “Everyone knows the only humans who drink Gaudium tea are the idiots who think we’re a myth! You telling me and I went and foresaw an idiot?!”

“Listen, listen, listen…” Guy waved his hands in a fruitless attempt to calm her. “Branch does _believe_ in fairies. He just doesn’t _trust_ fairies.”

There was a split second silence, almost lethal in its atmosphere, until Satin filled the world with aimless panic again. “Ohhhh, yeah, that’s _much_ better,”

“Yes, it is,”

“That was sarcasm, you absolute dunce!” She exploded, batting his chest with shaky hands. “This is a disaster!”

“Satin-” Chenille tried to intervene, tugging Guy away by the shoulder as to guard him from her sister’s unpredictable actions.

“It’s like neither of you understand,” She was pacing now. “Poppy and Branch have to connect. They have to. If they don’t, the entire land will suffer for it. And guess what faulty Seer made the prophecy and who’s going to get all the blame if she’s wrong?!”

“You’re not going to be wrong,”

“Well, how on earth am I going to be right, Chen? Can you see Poppy, _our Poppy_ , actually becoming fond of a fairy skeptic? You know we’ve seen humans like that before, we know what they’re like. The children are going to clash horribly, I just know it.”

“Satin, sis, my beloved nutcase,” Chenille soothed, pulling her sister in by the shoulders and stroking down the back of her head. “Honestly? I have no idea how Poppy is going to fall for Branch. But I know she will.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I know because you said it was so and faulty or not, you’re a Seer and you don’t make incorrect predictions. You never have and you never will.”

Satin’s fists tightened around Chenille’s clothes for dear life. “I just cannot see it happening for the life of me. How can this possibly turn out?”

“No one can be sure of the How or the When but it will be and that’s set in stone. We know all humans are absolutely impossible with things like this and Poppy and Branch are no different. Love is strange, after all. Strange but wonderful.”

Satin pulled back, both Chenille and Guy sighing in relief to see a teasing smirk on her face. “That sounds unbelievably vapid. You got that out of a book, didn’t you?”

Chenille nodded, forming a guilty smile. “I did. Good book. I’ll lend it to you later.”

“Hey, can I just say something?” Guy Diamond hovered just outside the twins embrace, hand held up politely.

“Go ahead.”

“Branch isn’t a bad kid.” Tone, though soft, was not twinged with a hint of uncertainty. “Please just take my word for it. I’ve been watching over him all his life and I know better that than anyone.”

The looks of both sisters softened.

“Look, I’ll just give you a heads up before you make assumptions yourself. I know he seems grouchy and unsociable and-and....”

For lack of better wording, he simply threw his hands in the air to emphasize his point. “Just-just, you’ll see what I mean when you see him in action. The fairy skepticism is true but...but that’s not all he is. He’s good. He really is. Just believe me.”

Satin extended an arm and Guy Diamond automatically hopped into their hug. They really did miss eachother.

“And how do you think he’s going to get along with Poppy?” Chenille murmured.

“I have no idea. But I promise that once he loves her, his entire heart will be in it.”

“You sure of that?”

“Positive.”

They allowed another moment for hundred year old bonds to soak in their lingering embrace. It ended with Chenille breaking away and turning on her heel, Satin tugged along with her.

“Well,” She announced. “We’re burning daylight and the children won’t wait around for us. We’ll be forever kicking ourselves if we’re late for this moment. You two ready?”

“Wait!”

The twins turned back to find Guy, fidgeting anxiously.

“What if he makes her cry?”

“You said he was a good kid.”

“He is! But he messes up a lot. Not that he means it or anything but...Oh, I dunno if I can handle that kind of secondhand embarrassment,”

Chenille rolled her eyes, popping a hand to her hips as she waited for him to finish. “Guy, get a hold of yourself. Poppy’s tough. A grubby little servant boy who’s like half her height, sure as Hell won’t make her cry,”

“Right, right, you’re right,” Guy mumbled, now fully assured. He took a step to follow them before abruptly stopping again. “Wait!”

“What?!” The two snapped in unison.

“What if she makes him cry? Like don’t let that little sour look of his fool you. Branch is very sensitive-”

“Poppy would never make someone cry, Guy,” said Satin, not bothering to keep the tired drone from her voice. “She’s a very nice girl. Sweet as can be.”

“Of course, of course, duh,” He slapped his forehead as he trailed behind them. “Why would I even think that? Of course, this is gonna go fine...”

In fairness to Guy Diamond and all that he stood for, their peaceful trek through the woods remained undisturbed for a solid forty-two seconds.

“Wait!”

Chenille grabbed hold of Satin's raised fist and forcefully lowered it against her side. “What is it, Guy?”

He looked positively stricken, wringing his hands in what was, in his own opinion, the most terrifying possibility yet. “What if _I_ start crying?”

The twins said nothing, both taking a moment to compose themselves.

In a stroke of genius, Satin’s hand slipped into her dress and produced a familiar silvery pouch. She held it at arm’s length, jangling beloved jewels in demonstration.

Guy’s gaze was locked on what gleamed, perfectly still, as if preparing to pounce.

“If I give you this back, will you please stop worrying until we get to the castle?”

Mouth drawn thin, he nodded rapidly.

Suffice to say, the rest of their journey was a lovely experience. The twins enjoyed the scenery and gentle breeze as Guy Diamond quietly examined his treasures, thoroughly enveloped in a world of his own.

They arrived punctually, much to their delight. Just as they were climbing an aged stone staircase with a ( “Hopelessly tacky” according to the twins.) swollen lump of a castle looming above them, a gallop of horses served to signal a new arrival.

The fairies leaned over the walls to bear witness, buzzing with nerves and excitement as a carriage pulled in below.

Plump and round in shape, painted in hues of gentle green and strewn with wreaths of decorate vines and flower buds. The horses were thickly maned, wearing reins and saddles of blue and braided with ribbons of every colour imaginable. The twins proudly pointed it out to Guy as the Princess’s handiwork.

The royal family of Trolopia had arrived.


	3. Setting Sparks

Once upon a time, a scullery maid, barely brushing ten years old, became the sole loved one of an irritable little boy. He had been left without a grandmother.

She was then, and always would be, the gentlest aspect of that little boy’s jagged ended life. Despite his general negative attitude towards most people, he could never bring himself to say he hated her.

“I hate you, y’know.”

Alright, scratch that. He could never say he hated her and _mean it._

Bridget didn’t bat an eye, too preoccupied with watching her step for scuttling spiders, alit candlestick held low to shed light on the darkened path.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going? We’re not gonna get lost?” She asked, whispery voice unnerved with such sketchy surroundings.

Branch scoffed, combing cobwebs out of his hair. “You really think I’m going to lead you down an _unfamiliar_ secret passageway? What kind of reckless moron do you take me for?”

“One that explored an unfamiliar secret passageway enough times that it was no longer unfamiliar?”

His stopped dead, instantly struck with the urge to retort but found himself empty worded. All that he managed was a scratchy catlike noise from the back of his throat.

Her face didn’t twitch beyond the natural look of uncertain innocence. She blinked questionably.

“How’s about not getting lippy with me, huh? I’m doing this for _you,_ aren’t I?”

“Right. Sorry, Branch.” She said, despite having no idea what she was apologizing for. Bridget was just accustomed to doing so.

The two trod onward, occasionally rolling ankles beneath the gaps in stone slabbed flooring and despite the continuously splitting tunnels, Branch strode confidently, never once hesitating in his sense of direction.

He did, however, hold up a running commentary on his contempt.

“Chef’s finally off our asses, Bridge. We could be doing _anything_ with our free time.”

“Uh huh.”

“I finally made progress in studying the hibernation habits of Bellow Bugs.”

“Right.”

“Could be documenting it right now.”

“Yeah.”

“Or maybe I could just be building up a fire so I don’t freeze to death tonight.”

“Okay, Branch.”

“But, noooo, where’s the fun in that?” He turned to her, face contorted in a painfully sarcastic smile. He threw his arm out dramatically. “Bridget won’t know peace until she gets a look at an old guy and a little girl in fancy threads.”

“Branch, come on.” While Bridget was clearly exasperated with his whining, she was nowhere near the end of her rope. When it came to Branch, she had the patience of a saint. “They’re not just an old guy and little girl. They’re the royal family of Trolopia.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not much of a title when they’re in Bergenhend, is it?”

“Isn’t King Peppy technically _your_ king? You don’t wanna get a peek at him?”

Branch rolled his eyes. “Bridge, where you’re born means nothing when you’ve spent your whole damn life slaving away for the ruler of someplace else. He is as much my king as that marketplace guy who sells those cabbages and calls them Green Oranges.”

“Well, what about the princess?” Bridget asked, hurrying to keep up with his quickened pace.

His free fist swung and his feet stomped, a march brought upon by bubbling annoyance. “What about her?”

“We’ve never seen a princess before.”

Branch spared her a dry glance. “Ever see a dead rat?”

“Yes.”

“Ever see one wearing a poofy dress.”

“No...?”

“Me neither. But I’m sure we’re not missing much.”

Besides a sigh and a pleading look to the low hanging ceiling, Bridget didn’t vocalize her disdain. Branch could be as stubborn as the those finger-scratching dish stains and she just wasn’t the bickering sort. This was a battle destined to be lost.

At the very least, he still agreed to lead the way.

They came to a halt once they encountered a wall. A fat heap of dingy, dusty stone stacked up before them. Before Branch could elaborate, a high frequency noise sent his nerves jumping in fright.

“The Hell?!” He blurted out. “What was-.....?”

The question trailed away just as his fear did. His shoulders relaxed upon further inspection as he set the glow of his candle upon Bridget.

She stood with quaking knees, eyes hauntingly wide and hands clamped tightly over her mouth.

Ah, just panicked Bridget sounds. Of course

“Wh-I-I-I thought you said you knew where we were going!” Her voice had shot up in pitch and for once in his life, Branch had to get her volume down.

He shushed frantically, the flame flicker whirling with the wave of his hands. “I do, I do, now ssshhhh!”

Bridget was quietened but by no means comforted. “Then why are we standing at a dead end?!” She hissed.

“It’s not a dead end, it’s exactly where you wanted to go.” He grasped hold of her wrist and tugged her forward. “Look.”

Branch raised his candle. Once illuminated, something resembling a large, ebony door-knocker was revealed, attached to one of the middle rocks. Branch took hold and very gently, pulled away an entire hunk of the stone(?)’s center. All that remained was a thick, hollowed out ring, light now pouring through the threshold.

Bridget’s bottom lip fell open but she was saved the need to ask any questions.

Branch took in her confusion with a single look and pointed to the boulder-sized peephole. “Real rock but chiseled out from the inside. They put in a fake middle to be slid out whenever needed.” He explained in a whisper, lifting said fake middle with relative ease before setting it down.

“But why?”

His lip curled in a smirk. “Nobody builds a castle without accommodating to servants who want to spy on their king.”

Bridget released a tiny gasp, scandalized. “They really make it that easy? To spy on their king?”

“You really are saying that like you’re against it, huh?” Branch deadpanned, popping a hand on his hip. “What are you doing right now, Bridge? Baking cookies?”

She inhaled to answer at her own defense, though the words promptly shriveled before they were spoken. “Spying on the King.” She finally mumbled.

Branch nodded in satisfaction. He stepped back, jazz handing the peephole in extravagant presentation. “Ladies first.”

Bridget stepped forward tentatively. Once close enough, she summoned the courage to peer through the gap but within seconds, shot back with a little squeak.

“Oh, what now?” Branch snapped.

“K-....Th-the King! King Gristle and the Prince are down there!” She spluttered.

“Well, yeah, I should hope so.” He folded his arms, leaning back against the wall. “We’re just above the Throne Room.”

“What if they see me?!” Her hands were wringing so fast, her fingers were a blur.

“Doubt it,” Branch shook his head, nose wrinkling. “Adults don’t bother to look up much. Just try not to yell or they might hear you.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, Bridget dared to look again. Her confidence in not being spotted became obvious when the softest sigh slipped from her lips.

Branch rolled his eyes. “Please don’t.”

“He’s still so beautiful...”

“Wow. Thanks for the update. Y’know sometimes I forget that Prince Gristle is the pinnacle of beauty. I sure am glad you keep reminding me.”

“His hair is so shiny today...”

“Yeah, alright, you’re not listening.”

“He’s always so happy when he’s with his father. It’s just the cutest-ahh!”

Bridget jolted, reflexively raising a hand to slap whatever creepy crawly was climbing her arm.

She was met only with Branch who was ghosting his fingers across her shoulder, imitating creeping little legs.

“Still here, Bridge.” He said, utterly stone faced. “Feeling awkward.”

“Oh,” Mouthed Bridget, quickly nodding as the realization dawned. “That’s right. Sorry.”

“Hey, you forced me to lead you up here because you wanted to see the visiting King and Princess, right? You can gawk over Prince Gristle any day, c’mon now!”

“Oh, I’ve seen them already, come look!” She whirled around to get another glance.

“I don’t want to look.”

“Y’know, King Peppy is a lot smaller than I thought he’d be.”

“It’s possible to be small and in charge, Bridget.”

“He makes King Gristle look like a giant.”

“Greeeat,” Branch droned, picking at the grime under his fingernails.

“Oh, and the Princess....”

He made a mental note to give these nails a thorough scrubbing. At some point this month anyway.

“Her dress, it’s-....it’s just so-....” Another sigh. “Don’t you think it’d be nice to be a princess?” Bridget whispered longingly.

Grubby nails forgotten, Branch glanced up. The melancholic touch to her tone, had caught him a little by surprise.

She was all sad eyes and crestfallen shoulders as she gazed downwards and his pity pooled for her.

The person he was looking at, was an emotionally fragile though unquestionably strong teenage girl. Let him make that perfectly clear.

A scullery maid who fawned over perfected locks and designer dresses because while these were such frivolous things, they were like dreams to her. But always beyond her little world.

She scrubbed, cleaned, dusted, _existed_ in a single faded pink dress, mended and adjusted countless times with her aging growth spurts.

Her thin lilac hair was drawn into tight pigtails, in hopes the greasiness wouldn’t be too noticeable. He knew that was clawing its way to a top spot on her insecurities list.

Bridget had a lot of reasons to be miserable and oftentimes, it felt like she truly was.

But Branch still recalled being six years old and eating spoonfuls of sugar straight from the bag. Anxious, eleven year old Bridget, ever terrified of Chef’s wrath, had broken into her kitchen in the dead of night. All in the name of getting a smile out of Branch.

The sugar had been sweet and Bridget sweeter. And she hadn’t changed since.

“I dunno,” Said Branch, strolling over to stand by her side, a smile currently his objective. “I don’t think the princess lifestyle is for me. Though, say I was open to the idea. Would you help me get the corset on? I hear it’s a two man job.”

Bridget snorted, her lip tweaking up. “Of course. And you’d do the same for me?”

“Sure. But just know I’m not responsible for any broken ribs the contraption may cause.”

A small chuckle. She had never been the Laugh Out Loud sort. Neither was Branch, come to think of it.

“Alright, let’s get a look at these royals,”

As Branch squeezed himself into Bridget’s space to peer, the view filled in beneath him. The infamous eyesore that was the Throne Room of Bergenhend Castle.

King Gristle was partial to murky brown interior and hideous carpet patterns. Portraits decking peeling walls captured sweaty smiles of prior kings and sheets of dust that enunciated just how exhausted the entire room felt.

Sober stoned arches rose high and lower walls budded with untrimmed shrubbery that the servants knew better than to ask about.

His stumpy stone fireplace nursed a pet flame that never quite burned out. King Gristle was growing cantankerous in his old age and even the faintest draft up his ankle could have dire consequences for the person who let the fire die. More specifically, Branch.

Luckily for him, it had been stacked thoroughly and the blaze roared to the high heavens. He had nothing to worry about. Yet.

A party of four was huddled by the steps of Gristle’s throne, the kings engaging in what looked to be polite discussion as their children stood albeit awkwardly on the sidelines.

King Gristle would be considered a hulking height if it weren’t for his humped back. He dressed in miserable burgundy and heavy furs which bunched around his neck as a shield from the cold.

What blue-grey wisps remained from his balding head, stuck out around his ears and coupled with caterpillar eyebrows and bloodshot eyes, gave him the look of someone not particularly pleasant.

And though the lesson usually is ‘Don’t judge based on appearances’ when it came to King Gristle, it was true. He wasn’t pleasant. In any sense of the word.

What threw Branch off, was just how peculiar King Peppy seemed in comparison.

The little man’s height did not work against him in the slightest. With a single glance, Branch saw an undeniable leader. A King. And one Hell of a powerhouse.

He dressed sharp, in various shades of leafy greens though without a cape to weigh him down. Long, bright hair and a finely combed thick moustache. Nestled atop his head was a crown styled of ornate silver leaves, dotted with gleaming emerald.

“Kinda flashy for a Bergenheld visit,”

Bridget hummed in agreement. “Really pretty though.”

Couldn’t argue with her there.

There was no obligation in any aspect of how King Peppy presented himself. He stood as tall as he could muster, charmingly chipper and his baritone booming enthusiastically as Gristle meandered through his list of civil conversation starters, pointedly uninvested. (“How are you?” “How was the journey?” etc.)

Peppy answered them all. The little King just seemed delighted to be here.

“Why?” Branch mouthed to himself, astonished. If he could be perfectly blunt, this castle was just a glorified pit of gloom.

When it came to Prince Gristle, there wasn’t a lot to comment on. From the heftiness of his build to liquid red irises to a head resembling an unripened tomato, green topped and all. He wasn’t particularly intelligent, or handsome or anything more than a bit of a brat with an admirer he didn’t deserve.

The guy was no groundbreaker. In fact, he was pretty damn unremarkable for a Prince.

And that wasn’t years of bottled up resentment talking. No, but if Branch _were_ to delve into that, it would be a lot more cutting.

The Prince stood elevated above the rest, on the steps below his father’s throne. He was rigid in his stance, a fixed gaze focused on the kings’ conversation, as if he were a contributing third member.

Branch quickly deduced that he was desperately avoiding someone’s eye, the responsibility to carrying his own polite casualties a little too much to bear. The Princess was being ignored.

With her being the subject of the Gristle’s cold shoulder, Branch had to acknowledge the girl below and immediately found himself with a sudden burst of opinions.

In future, Poppy would mature into a very understanding, tough skinned woman. But that would not stop her feelings being hurt when Branch would recall his first impression of her.

“How much you wanna bet she’s gonna break a vase?”

Now, usually, Bridget had at least some idea of what the actual Hell Branch was talking about. This time? Zilch.

A blink like molasses and a wobbling lower lip as she tried for a response. Until finally. “....I’m sorry, what….?”

“Her.” Branch jutted his chin towards The Princess. “Just look at her.”

Princess Poppy was truly the embodiment of boredom right now. Ribbon touched slippers folded in on themselves as her arms swung idly, petticoats swishing as she swayed. She had given up establishing contact with Prince Gristle and had tunneled far into her own little dreamland.

Branch did not trust one bit of it. The minute he set his sights on her, he saw far too much of a person being contained inside a tiny capsule. And eventually, she was going to pop.

“She’s bored. And do you know what children do when they’re bored, Bridget? They get curious. They touch things. They break things. And guess what poor saps will be called to clean up her mess?”

Branch flicked his forefinger between the two of them. “Princess is gonna be a handful, I assure you.”

Bridget stretched out an “Ehhhhh,” in passive disagreement. “It’s not like either of us really know her yet. Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on her?”

“Instincts. I know exactly what that girl’s gonna bring. Struggles.”

“B--but c’mon, she can’t be that bad,”

“I’m not usually wrong, Bridget. Don’t try to convince me I’m wrong.”

“But look at her!” Bridget gestured, as if on a mission to personally defend this little girl that she didn’t know. “She looks-she....she looks so sweet! And so pretty, she-”

“Of course she’s pretty!” Branch barked. “She’s a princess, it’s in her job description! But if she ends up raising Hell while she’s here, then beauty’s kinda damn insignificant, isn’t it?!”

A beat.

She wriggled a little, lips scrunching in a very Bridget-like form of defiance but otherwise, didn’t answer. Instead she simply snapped her head back to the girl in question, with an evident pout.

Branch wondered if he should take this as an accomplished victory or if this was just Bridget refusing to argue with him again. Either way, it was pretty anticlimactic. He sighed with the full of his chest, folded arms propping against the wall as he looked on too.

Princess Poppy set off several shrill alarm bells and Branch was developing premonitions at the rate of a breakout. Her roaming, curious eyes did not comfort his anxiety. She had him on edge.

But despite that, she was-.....from a purely observational standpoint....

While also speaking as a person familiar with multiple illustrations of storybook princesses....Plus! Branch was fully aware of the royal process. He knew it took hours of delicate handiwork to obtain that kind of artificial perfection.

....But she _was_ beautiful.

To clarify! She was, what Branch believed, one would define as beautiful. An image eyes were naturally drawn to, regardless of the personal opinions held by those eyes.

Princess Poppy was statured petitely. (which made her ‘will not be knocked over’ vibe all the more unnerving.) She dressed in cerulean, a bodice of floral print and the outer layer of skirts turquoise trimmed and puffing out far beyond her waist. It gave her the distinct look of a high class, iced cupcake, complete with a pink berry topper.

Hair was wound in a tight coil at the top of her head, though rebellious strands of blush tinted tresses would always find freedom, some even tangled in the petals of her tiara. A simplistic headpiece, inspired by childlike flower-crowns. Hers consisted of a decorate forget-me-not ring, diamond pistils glinting under chandeliers.

A heart shaped face was skimming her surroundings with an air of restlessness. Room now memorized, current conversations easily predicted, she searched for a new sight to break off from the slow world that engulfed her, whether something to ponder, admire or at the very least entertain.

What came next was so quick and so sharp, Branch wished he had braced himself.

The Princess looked up and before he could react, she found him. Now, he would swear on any sacred text you set his palm over, in that girl’s eye was a flash of lightning. When Poppy saw Branch, it struck his core.

White light flooded his pupils and he jolted. In....pain? Was it pain? Or just fright? Or panic? Somehow, despite affliction being the basis for mortality, the state of his physical self was difficult to pinpoint in that moment.

The body locked, refusing to move but the bones themselves seared red-hot and quavered. It was as if an earthquake had been stolen from nature’s forces and instead rattled like a prisoner, inside Branch’s system.

Though blinded to everything, he still saw her and nothing else. Distance was deemed meaningless to otherworldly ideals as her face wafted close enough to find the constellations in her freckles and feel the flush of soft cheeks. Eyes still pink as first glance and just as shocking face-to-face.

She burned herself into his head, stopped his heartbeat and sent stingers up every solitary nerve.

And then, all at once, it stopped.

Before he was ready to be released, the world existed again. King Peppy’s voice slowly rose in volume as Branch blinked his vision back. He was shaking, wind knocked out of him as he sucked in breaths by the mouthful.

Bridget was giving his frame a jostle, successfully forcing him back to his current whereabouts. He realized that a sound regarded as a nothingness buzz was composed of the questions she was shooting his way.

“Branch? Branch, are you okay? Why do you look like you’re gonna puke? Branch?!”

He shouldered her off, attempting a reassuring pat to her hand. “It’s fine,” He finally managed after struggling to get the words out. His throat was dry.

The Princess was no longer all there was. She was just that tiny figure who stood below again. Like she was before she met his eyes.

But though life all around them had remained untouched, that moment was confirmed and documented as she stared up at him, heaving shoulders and face stricken in horror.

Branch read a whispered “What the-...?” from her lips.

Poppy backed away, not daring to look elsewhere, but almost collapsed under weak knees. A trembling hand reached for the support of her father and once her fingers found his forearm, she fell a little limp against him.

King Peppy remained oblivious, still chatting animatedly with Gristle. He was apparently accustomed to his daughter clasping at him as he automatically set his hand to her ruffle her hair.

She opened her mouth to speak and just like that, Branch was punched with a sudden flight response.

“We have to go.”

He spoke in a monotone that didn’t match his jittering mannerisms. He was hastily hoisting up the rock’s cut middle and plugging it back in place as he chanted. “We have to go, we have to go, we have to go,”

“What? Why? What’s wrong-woah!”

Branch didn’t answer but instead snatched Bridget’s wrist and took off. In the midst of his panicked rush, he nearly ripped her arm straight from its socket.

“Branch! Please slow down, you’re gonna hit a wall!”

“I won’t!”

They had broken into a sprint through stony corridors, Branch tearing in the lead and dragging a bewildered Bridget behind him. He was chancing a bolt through the pitch black pathway, having left his candle behind but refused to stop long enough for Bridget to pass him hers. There was no time!

Until finally, Bridget forcibly yanked him to a halt.

Branch yelped in surprise, sparing a split second to blink at her, utterly discombobulated before devolving into a panting babble. “Wh-Bridget! Bridget, what the Hell do you think you’re doing?! We have to go, we have-”

“Branch,” She began, loud enough to cut him off but still laced in that Bridget-like hesitance. “I’m not-....I’m not taking another step-”

She emphasized with a weak foot thump. “-Until you-...you...uh,” Straightening her spine, she spoke a little firmer this time. “Until you tell me why you’re freaking out so much.”

Branch’s reaction lagged. He could only stare, stunned.

There was something just so utterly brain stopping about knowing deep in your heart, that you had to retreat and being forced to stop abruptly. As if it were a trivial matter. It was like a universe malfunction.

Though it took him a moment to re-gather his scattered head, he tried to explain.

To the best of his limited abilities.

Branch shot a trembling index finger down the tunnel from where they had run from. “You and I-....” He wheezed. Another instant was needed to clear his throat and take a few deep inhales. “You and I are gonna be careful of that princess from now on.”

Bridget, for all her patience, allowed her shoulders to slump in exasperation. “This again?”

“No, listen. I had an instinct and-”

“Branch, you already told me about your instinct. She’s gonna break vases. It’s not that bad, I don’t mind cleaning-”

“Different instinct,” He ground out.

“Oh,” Bridget’s eyelids popped wide in surprise. “Well...uh...what did this instinct say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“But you always know.” She pressed, with an insistent bob of her head. “Your instincts are super specific. It gets kinda annoying sometimes....”

“What was that?”

“I said it’s not an instinct if you don’t know what it’s telling you.”

“No.” Said Branch almost instantly, the word snapped out by a sharp shake of the head. “It told me enough.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘enough’ exactly?”

“That princess made me feel something and it was not pleasant. I think I can put together the pieces and say we should steer clear of her. Whatever she is, it’s not good.”

* * *

Fairies did not commonly look upon humans’ interactions with particular interest. In fact, they were rather indifferent as a whole.

But in the off-chance they were observing for their own magical purposes, they would probably be lurking near the ceiling. Invisible to the naked eye, of course.

“Did my boy seriously just run away?! _Branch!”_ Guy Diamond cried incredulously, stretching his arms out as if to reel his godchild back to his aforementioned “Destiny”.

The three fairies had made themselves comfortable atop one of the chandeliers above. They were flat surfaced and cylinder in shape, lanterns forged of amber and embellished with fossilized insects.

Guy was hanging upside-down, clasping on by the back of his knees as Chenille’s stomach pinned his calves down. She lay, somewhat bored, across the circular tile with one hand propping her face upward.

“No offense, Guy. But your child’s a bit of a wuss, isn’t he?”

“Listen, he’s not usually scared of little girls! I don’t know what’s going on here.”

“Oh, relax,” Satin lightly chided. Unlike the other two, who had piled up lazily, her wings were still broken out and she hovered in the air beside them, posture straight in attention. “Look, our girl couldn’t handle it either.”

She pointed below to where Princess Poppy was politely nodding her way to the Throne Room’s exit, after excusing herself from the royal assembly. Her reasoning was an impromptu feeling of queasiness and request to go rest her head.

Satin cooed sympathetically, slipping her hand beneath her chin. “Those poor little souls. I’ve heard The First Connection can be very distressing, even for adults. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to a child.”

“You seem a lot more confident in this match, Sis,” Commented Chenille. “I may be missing something there but those two looked at eachother like they were going to bite and then ran away. Tell me, is this a good thing?”

She beamed. “It’s a brilliant thing!”

Guy Diamond glanced up at the twins, an eyebrow cocking as he fixed his arms behind his head. “Satin, I believe you and I have a very different opinion on what ‘Love at First Sight’ looks like.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t love. The two don’t even know eachother. But now we know their connection isn’t faulty and that’s something!”

Chenille drew herself into a sitting position. “Connection?”

Satin nodded, flopping down to sit by her sister’s side. She tapped Guy’s legs impatiently, as a request for him to join them.

“They were born with enchanted souls, after all. While the children _themselves_ don’t know about their responsibility, the souls have always been aware of the deed they have to carry out.”

“Smart souls.” Guy Diamond smirked. He had undone himself from his batlike position and clicked into this little fairy huddle.

The twins smiled, the same fond thought touching both their hearts.

“Well, Poppy is a smart kid.” Said Chenille.

Satin gestured to Guy. “And we’re sure Branch is too.”

“Ehhh,” He tilted his head playfully. “He is. Except when he’s not, y’know? But apparently, you’re saying that my boy just hightailed it like a spooked rabbit because of some sort of magical-y connection?”

Satin clicked her tongue. “On the nose.”

“Hold on,” Chenille was squinting in confusion. “This is supposed to be a good thing, isn’t it? The children are supposed to be good for eachother? If that’s the case, why does The First Connection startle them so much? Does it hurt?”

Her sister shrugged. “I don’t know the specifics. Harley’s the expert here so go ahead and ask her if you want a better explanation. All I know is that once the Chosen Two first make eye contact, the souls immediately recognize eachother as their other half. A powerful surge of energy then sparks.”

Guy sucked a breath through his teeth. “Seems pretty harsh on the kiddies.”

“Magic did not come to exist with humans’ pain tolerance in mind. It’s just how it is.”

“We should probably attempt some deconstruction of that, at some point.”

Chenille hummed thoughtfully. “Harley says its just best to let magic adapt itself, without tampering with it. Could make it worse.”

“Anyway!” Satin gestured excitedly to the door Poppy had exited. “You two aren’t nearly thrilled enough about this. They’ve made their connection! It’s all smooth sailing from here, people.”

“Sis, do you really think anything with Poppy involved can be classified as ‘Smooth Sailing’?”

“Yeeeeah,” Guy joined in. “Nothing with Branch is ever easy either. Also, if this connection thing did scare the little twerps so much, then don’t you think they’re gonna be avoiding eachother?”

The twins shared an astounded look.

“Is that what _Branch_ usually does, Guy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s about time you met Poppy, then.”


End file.
